


Skylark

by VideEtCredere



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VideEtCredere/pseuds/VideEtCredere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, written for prompts from TFormers100 on Livejournal, all focusing on or involving Silverbolt, the leader of the Aerialbots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secours; Fireflight; PG

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these drabbles are completely unrelated; related drabbles will be posted back-to-back and/or noted to be connected. I'll put the prompt of each drabble at the top and the basic information in the chapter title.
> 
> Prompt: Contentment

Silverbolt was blearily nudged out of recharge by somebody squirming- being at the center of the pile could have its disadvantages when somebody got uncomfortable or, Primus help him, had a nightmare. He didn't bring his optics online immediately, instead feeling out across the gestalt bond to figure out who it was.

Slingshot was still totally out, his presence in the bond muted, and while Skydive's presence was stronger he was undoubtedly recharging. Air Raid was somewhere under his left wing (he could recognize that helm from feel alone,) leaving Fireflight as the only candidate for the restless one.

He onlined his optics slowly, pulling one arm free of Skydive's grasp to brush over Fireflight's left wing. “What's wrong, 'Flight?” He murmured, feeling the smaller jet lean into the touch. There was more squirming, drawing an annoyed sound from Slingshot as he was jostled, then Fireflight was pressed almost fully against him, resting his head on Silverbolt's chest.

Silverbolt moved his hand from the Phantom's wing, gently stroking his brother's helm and listening to the quiet, content sigh of his vents in response. Before he could repeat his question, Fireflight spoke up, his voice still static-edged from recharge. “Nothin's wrong. Just wanted a hug.” He mumbled, flinging one arm over Silverbolt as he edged even closer, almost as if he was trying to combine through proximity alone.

“Are you sure? You've wanted hugs a lot lately.” It was true- Fireflight had always been the most clingy of any of Aerialbots, but he'd been practically inseparable from them the past two weeks; something that had led to a particularly nasty argument a few days ago and left a lot of hurt feelings all around that he had just managed to smooth over. He was drawn out of his thoughts when Fireflight said something, but his voice was so quiet he couldn't hear the smaller jet. “What was that?”

Fireflight stayed silent for a few long moments, idly tapping on Silverbolt's plating in that odd way of his (first-third-second-fourth, never faltering) while he held a mental debate. Silverbolt delved a bit further into the bond, watching the turmoil of emotions while still keeping his distance. Hesitance, worry, reluctance, then finally a decision. “I asked why we're not like them.” Fireflight repeated, flexing his wing-joints and causing his wings to twitch.

Them? Who was... Oh. Sure enough, Fireflight confirmed his realization a moment later, drawing up a memory of all five Protectobots sitting around a table in the refectory, talking mildly amongst themselves- a far cry from the chaos that usually erupted whenever the five Aerialbots were together in one place.

Silverbolt cycled his vents, letting out a slow gust of air as he struggled to gather his thoughts. Primus, how could he explain this... “We're not like them because we aren't them.” He began, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb any of the others. “They're... They were made to stay back behind the fighting and help clean up afterward. They're the relieving force after the battle. So they got the sorts of personalities that helped that. But us? We were made to be fighters.”

As he spoke, Fireflight's nervous tapping slowed and then ceased, the Phantom tilting his head back to stare at him with those bright blue optics. Silverbolt gave him what he hoped was a comforting smile, and got a tiny grin in return. “We have to be okay with fighting, so we got the personalities we did. That means that sometimes we fight, but it doesn't mean we don't love each other.” He wasn't sure any of that made sense, especially outside his own processor, but Fireflight looked thoughtful.

“But we like fighting.” The Phantom said finally, looking up at him with such obvious confusion that Silverbolt found himself resisting the urge to laugh, even though it wasn't really funny. “Exactly. That's probably why we get in fights with each other so much.” Well, it wasn't _completely_ true, but close enough. Fireflight let out a little 'oh' sound, squirming to rest the side of his helm on Silverbolt's chest, right over his spark.

Silverbolt resumed his gentle stroking of his brother's helm, smiling at the happy rumble of Fireflight's engines. They stayed that way for a few breems, long enough for Silverbolt to offline his optics and almost slip back into recharge, before Fireflight spoke up again, almost too quiet for him to hear again. “'Bolt?” Silverbolt made a questioning noise in response, knowing that he'd be able to figure it out. “Love you.”

His vents hitched for a moment in surprise; it wasn't a particularly common thing to hear any of his brothers actually say that. Sure, the gestalt bond made it a bit pointless, but... It was still nice to hear. “...Love you too, Flight.” He said softly, letting the sound of his brothers' systems around him lull him into back into recharge.


	2. Noblesse; Skyfire, whales; G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt runs across something fascinating on a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Underwater

Normally, Silverbolt wouldn't have been the one sent on an Arctic mission- even with his greater range, he wasn't made for this kind of trip. But Skyfire had just gotten back from a mission to one of Jupiter's moons (he felt a little bad for not even remembering which one, but Fireflight had accepted some sort of dare from Sideswipe, Air Raid was egging both of them on, and things had devolved into general chaos after that) and despite his limitations, he could still make the trip.

Which was why he was out here, cargo hold full of the rock samples Perceptor had requested, flying back home over the north Atlantic. This was really rather peaceful, thinking about it. Hot Spot had agreed to watch over his team while he was gone, the quiet sound of the waves below him was oddly comforting, there was no one to heckle him for flying as low as he wanted-

-And there was something lighting up his ventral proximity sensors. It was a few hundred feet beneath him, but still enough to startle him out of his thoughts. Confused, he ran another quick sensor sweep, but nothing returned aside from the open water beneath him. There weren't even any birds that could have caused it within a reasonable distance. Banking slowly so as not to hit anything he somehow missed, he carefully turned his visual sensors downward.

A small group of surprisingly large dark shapes moved under the waves, some of them almost a fourth as long as his alt mode. For a few moments he thought that maybe they were somehow Decepticons that his scans had missed, but then one surfaced.

Only a little bit of the body came out of the water, the visible parts colored a sleek black, though it didn't look entirely smooth. Following the movement came a large... Tail, maybe? He wasn't sure, but it didn't look like a head, and whatever it was attached to was moving the opposite direction. He really should have paid more attention to Hound's talks about the native fauna...

Fascination overriding his common sense for once, Silverbolt flung his sensors outward again, finding an ice floe that appeared sturdy enough to hold his weight. He managed to land without cracking his new-found perch or skidding off, transforming carefully once he was sure it wasn't going to shatter. He moved closer to the edge, wary of any noises the ice made as he moved, and turned his focus back to where the animals had been.

Another one came up, this time throwing almost its entire body out of the water, and he couldn't help staring. The beast was covered in _ridges_ , it looked like, and the bottom- at least he thought it was the bottom, he couldn't be sure- was a rather bright white. Before the Concorde could get a better look, the black half hit the water again, the creature dropping back out of sight.

Silverbolt wasn't really sure how long he followed the group for; he hadn't looked at his chronometer when he landed the first time, and they were far enough north that this world's sun didn't tell him much. No matter how long it was, it was enough time for him to run almost out of fuel, and he sent out a sheepish comm to Skyfire.

Normally, Skyfire wouldn't be sent out to pick up Silverbolt- though Fireflight was a different story- from some odd place on the planet, which turned out to be a small Norwegian island in this case. //So, I'm guessing there's a good explanation?// He (only partially) joked over their comm line, landing carefully so as not to crush any vegetation.

The Aerialbot just grinned at him, voice filled with such excitement and wonder as he answered that Skyfire couldn't find it in himself to be even slightly annoyed with the reason for his impromptu trip. //You won't believe what I saw.//


	3. Ameliorate; Hoist, Fireflight; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoist assuages some of Fireflight's fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Healing

“It's not that bad, 'Bolt, really...!”

“Fireflight, you had _part of a tree_ jammed into your wing joint! You need to get it looked at!” A pause where Fireflight said something he couldn't quite hear. “Air Raid is not a medic!”

Hoist couldn't help the amusement threatening to reveal itself over his faceplates as he listened to the 'quiet' argument going on outside the door to the workshop he shared with Grapple (partly out of necessity, partly because it kept Grapple from hijacking any poor mech who happened to be around to help him with whatever he was working on at the time.) Sure enough, a few moments later he heard the soft hum of the doors slipping open, and Silverbolt spoke up. “Hoist, could we have a moment of your time?”

Allowing himself a quiet chuckle, both at the jet's hesitant politeness and the fact Grapple hadn't even noticed their new companions, the truck turned to face them with a cheerful expression. “Of course! What can I help you with?”

Fireflight shuffled nervously, held in front of his brother by a gentle but firm hand pressing into his shoulder. “Um... I kind of crashed earlier- it wasn't a bad one, I was barely scraped! But I might have...” Here he paused, the Phantom's wings twitching slightly as he looked down, everything in his posture screaming how embarrassed he was. “Might have hit a tree on the way down and caught a branch in my wing joint and it's gone now but it still kind of hurts and maybe you'd look at it?”

“Of course, Fireflight.” Gently patting the nervous jet on the shoulder, he ushered both of them over to the berth currently tucked in the corner of the room. Grapple had _insisted_ he move it because it was 'in the way', which was honestly rather ridiculous but he'd humored the crane nonetheless. Fireflight scrambled up onto it, almost as if he was afraid Hoist would suddenly reverse his decision (an even more ridiculous notion), and managed to maneuver himself so that the green mech could reach the pained area easier. “Now, let's see what's wrong with that wing, shall we?”

He found the problem as soon as he got a good look- though the main branch had been removed, a few twigs were still twisted and caught in the sensitive joint- and quickly set about cleaning up the mess, only listening to the conversation with half an audial subroutine. “And that,” Silverbolt said, with the exasperated tone of someone who had been forced to have this conversation a great many times, “is why you go to a _medic_ instead of your brothers to get organic fauna- or _anything_ that doesn't belong in your frame for that matter- removed!” Fireflight shifted a little, though not enough to disrupt Hoist's careful work at plucking the bits of wood out of delicate metalwork, before offering up a chastised-sounding, “Sorry, 'Bolt...”

A heavy venting of air followed, and the Concorde crossed his arms, expression softening as he looked down at his teammate. “I don't want you to be sorry, 'Flight. You just need to realize that nobody's going to be mad at you over _accidents_. That's why Hoist, Ratchet, and First Aid do what they do.”

 _That_ caught his attention. Curiously, he paused in his work to lean over, catching Fireflight's optics. “You think I'm going to be mad at you?” He was fairly certain he hadn't done anything to give the impressionable young jet that idea...

His question was met with more squirming as the Phantom looked away. “R-Ratchet's always yelling at the twins for getting themselves hurt outside of battle, and First Aid keeps saying we all need to be more careful, and... And I don't want you to yell at me.” The last part was said in an utterly pitiful tone as Fireflight looked back at him, all wide-opticked nervousness, as if he actually expected Hoist to get angry with him!

“Fireflight,” He couldn't manage to keep some of his amusement out of his tone, “when was the last time you heard _me_ yell at _anyone?_ ”

The red and white mech paused, obviously searching his memory banks. “...oh.” He said finally, expression turning sheepish as he smiled at both his leader and the medic.

That resolved, Hoist turned his focus back to the organic matter cluttered in Fireflight's wing with a quiet chuckle, and within a few breems he'd pulled the last bits free, the mech in question twitching it in relief. He turned, offering Hoist another bright smile before he slipped off the berth and nearly overbalanced, the odd angle he'd been sitting at playing havoc with his equilibrium centers. The truck laughed, helping him straighten before playfully nudging him toward the door. “There, you're free! Just don't put too much strain on it until your self-repair patches up the rest of the damage, alright?”

Fireflight nodded enthusiastically before practically flouncing out the door, Silverbolt initially following at a slower pace until he paused by Hoist, giving him a small smile of his own. “Thank you, for helping him. I know I should have been able to convince him he wasn't being a bother, but he just wouldn't listen...” He trailed off, smile giving way to a worried frown that seemed to be his default expression more and more often now.

Hoist waved him off, stepping forward to wrap his arms around the jet with practiced ease, pleased when Silverbolt returned . “Now, now, that's certainly not a line of processing you need to complete. All that matters is he's aware now.” Pulling back, he was glad to see the smile had made its way back onto Silverbolt's faceplates, the worried expression slipping away unnoticed. He gently patted the edge of one wing, ushering the mech towards the door without any real sense of urgency. “I'm going to guess that you left the other three unattended while you brought Fireflight to me?”

Silverbolt tensed for a moment, a mixture of horror and fond resignation flitting over his features at the realization. “I did. I'm probably going to be collecting Blades out of some sort of bizarre circumstance, aren't I.” He gave Hoist a (only partially faked) look of despair, though there was more than a hint of amusement in his optics. “Why couldn't you have given them some self control when you created us?”

“To keep you sharp, of course, my dear Silverbolt. You should probably make sure Blades is still in one piece and they aren't attempting to use his rotary assembly as a human-style ceiling fan again.” He responded teasingly, allowing the Aerialbot to follow his brother out the door to go deal with his team before returning to Grapple's side, taking in the modifications his partner had made to his plans while he was occupied.

Suddenly Grapple looked up at him, optic ridges drawing down in confusion. “Hoist, who were you talking to?”

Hoist only laughed in response.


	4. Exculpate; Slingshot; G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slingshot's been an aft. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Forgiveness

Slingshot was furious with him. Again.  
  
Silverbolt really wished that he could think of this as a rare occurrence, but it was honestly all too common. Especially recently, with how badly the battles had been going. Tempers had been flaring all around, and things had come to a head just earlier that day in a shouting match over a genuinely pointless mistake during training.  
  
Steeling himself to be either ignored or screamed at, he knocked quietly on the door to the quarters Slingshot shared with Skydive. Maybe it was a bad idea, but... He had to say something, or they would both just stew on it for who knew how long, and drag the entire team down with them.  
  
The door almost flew open, but it wasn't Slingshot behind it- Skydive gave him a half-amused, half-irritated look before brushing past him into the common room. Hesitating for only a moment, Silverbolt forced himself to step inside and, sure enough, Slingshot glared at him from one of the berths. “Get out.”  
  
“Slings-”  
  
“ _Get out!_ ” Slingshot snarled, leaping to his feet as if to force Silverbolt to do just that. “You made your fragging _opinion_ clear enough, you slag-sucking-”  
  
“ _Slingshot!_ ” Silverbolt had hoped that he wouldn't have to raise his voice, but apparently it wasn't avoidable. At least Slingshot stopped dead in his tracks, either out of respect for Silverbolt's 'I am your commander and you will _listen_ Primus frag it all' tone or- more likely- out of spark deep instinct to listen when the gestalt leader spoke.  
  
This... Wasn't going as he hoped. Heaving air out his vents in a mimicry of the humans' sighs, Silverbolt hesitantly took a step toward his smallest brother, relieved when he didn't try to move away. “I didn't... I didn't come here to fight with you, okay?”  
  
Slingshot's glare didn't falter in the slightest, but that didn't do much to deter him. Slingshot was glaring at him half the time anyway. “It was _stupid_ to fight over that- I mean, Primus. We all make mistakes. I shouldn't have yelled. I'm...” He paused, because slag it all if this didn't help he didn't know what to do. “I'm sorry, Slings.”  
  
For a few seconds, he was worried that the words had no effect- the glare didn't fade and Slingshot's posture didn't relax. Then Slingshot puffed himself up in an incredibly familiar way, the same way he did when Air Raid subjected him to some ridiculous prank or Fireflight hijacked his time for whatever caught his current fancy. “I don't _make_ mistakes.” While the words were no real surprise, the fact that Slingshot chose to say them in his best possible Starscream impression caught him completely off-guard, and he couldn't stop a burst of laughter in response.  
  
Dragging himself back under control, Silverbolt found himself incredibly relieved to see Slingshot smirking at him. “You- you were just fragging with me!” He sputtered the words, putting on the most serious expression he could manage given the circumstances, but Slingshot didn't look phased in the slightest.  
  
“Yeah, well. You were gonna work yourself into stasis lock if you didn't lighten the frag up and then it'd be even _more_ unbearable to deal with these scrapheaps.” Slingshot tried to play it off, but Silverbolt could still feel faint threads of _concern_ flickering through the gestalt bond. “We figured we'd get one over on you while you were distracted. Teach _you_ to spend so much time with those ground-pounders.”  
  
He thought about scolding Slingshot for the slur or the honestly mean-spirit prank (he'd been on the verge of panic over this, after all) but that brief flash of worry through the bond overruled all of that, and he couldn't stop his reaction.  
  
Crossing the room in a few quick steps, he wrapped his arms around his smallest brother, ignoring Slingshot's squawk of protest. “You are an aft. A complete, utter _aft_.”  
  
In spite of his apparent distaste for the situation, Slingshot didn't pull away, shifting in Silverbolt's grip to lean against him just a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough, and Silverbolt tightened his hold. “If you _ever_ try to pull some slag like that again, I will shock you into stasis lock.” He didn't mean the threat (well, probably) but it got the message across. Slingshot was nearly always the 'odd one out' amongst the Autobots, his temper and attitude only exacerbating the not entirely unfounded prejudice against fliers in their ranks, and talking to him like a 'normal' mech was... Pointless. Though the same could be said of their entire team...  
  
Slingshot huffed irritably at the threat, elbowing Silverbolt in the side hard enough for it to hurt. “The frag you _could!_ I'd blast you out of the sky!”  
  
This was as normal as Slingshot being angry with him- it was just how they functioned. It was... Difficult for a lot of the other Autobots to understand- First Aid in particular still always looked distraught whenever screaming matches broke out in the medbay; he needed to talk to them about that- but for them it was perfectly normal. Maybe it was a side-effect of what they were created for.  
  
Silverbolt pushed the thoughts aside, tightening his grip on Slingshot so he could heft his brother up just enough to pull him off the floor. “I'm sure you would try.” He teased, ignoring Slingshot's sputtered curses and half-sparked struggles as he set him back down. “Now get back outside, we have drills to run. And this time, you better _listen_.”  
  
Slingshot snorted disdainfully, shooting Silverbolt a dirty look. “I will if I feel like it.” He sneered, trudging toward the door with exaggeratedly heavy steps and leaving Silverbolt to just shake his head. Honestly, his brothers could be such _sparklings_ sometimes.  
  
But he could always forgive them anyway.


	5. Amity; Hot Spot; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected storm isn't always a bad thing. (Implied Hot Spot/Silverbolt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hail

//I _hate_ this planet's weather.//  
  
Hot Spot couldn't help a laugh (not that it was even audible over the racket) at Silverbolt's utterly dejected tone, transforming to peer out of the hangar at the jet. With how they'd been caught off-guard with this weather, they'd been forced to take refuge at a small airfield, which- unfortunately- didn't have a hangar large enough to accommodate Silverbolt's alt-mode.  
  
And that really was a shame, as even from this distance he could see the marks left on the other mech's plating from the small ice chunks. Hot Spot glanced around the small building- it was already cramped, between him and the small ultralight planes he was sharing it with, but there looked like there was just enough space for Silverbolt to join him. //Why don't you come in here?//  
  
There was a pause on the other end before Silverbolt apparently agreed that was a good idea, transforming with a cringe for his battered plating and headed for the small hangar. Negotiating for space was an awkward affair- Hot Spot had forgotten to take the flier’s wide wings into account- but after a few minutes they managed to figure it out, pressed so closely together Hot Spot could feel the vibrations from Silverbolt's fans.  
  
“So.” The Protectobot spoke up over the pounding on the metal roof, and not for the first time was grateful for his facemask; it made hiding his grin easier. “Looks like your paint could use some touch ups.” It was true. The jet's grey paint was definitely worse for wear from the little balls of hail, with minor dents and scrapes over most parts that had been exposed. He couldn't stop another burst of laughter at the half-amused half-exasperated look Silverbolt gave him, the reaction only amplified by his overall appearance.  
  
Silverbolt huffed out his vents, the air puffing over Hot Spot's plating in an odd way. “Oh sure, mock me while I'm damaged.” Even as he said that, Silverbolt was obviously fighting back a smile of his own, the corners of his optics crinkling in a tell-tale manner. After a moment, he gave in and offered up a brief laugh of his own, though the sound was quickly drowned out by the noise of the roof.  
  
Even with the sudden downpour ruining an otherwise nice day, Hot Spot wasn't sure the day could be called a failure, not with how close Silverbolt was to him, the nearly-inaudible hum of their systems, and the strange sense of peace pervading the small aircraft hangar. “Hey, 'Bolt?”  
  
He got a vaguely questioning noise in response, so he continued without waiting for verbal confirmation that the Aerialbot had heard him. “We should do this again sometime.”  
  
Silverbolt shifted against his side, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he looked out the hangar doors. He was silent for a few seconds, long enough that Hot Spot was worried he'd overstepped some sort of unspoken boundary and was about to apologize, but the jet spoke up just before he did.  
  
“I think I'd like that.”


	6. Abeyance; Fireflight; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt needs more time off and Fireflight's lucky he's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snow; implications of Silverbolt spending 'quality time' with an unspecified someone outside his team

//Bolt Bolt Bolt!// Fireflight's excited comm jerked him out of recharge, the rest of Silverbolt's systems booting up sluggishly as he tried to recall where he was, who he was with, and why exactly he'd been so rudely awoken. He resisted the nearly-overwhelming urge to just press closer to the warm frame beside him on his berth, calling up his comm system and trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. //What is it, Flight?//  
  
That excitement didn't seem to wane in the slightest, and if Fireflight noticed his irritation he ignored it. //You have to come see this! It's so weird! And really pretty but mostly weird!//  
  
He tuned out the rest of Fireflight's rambling commentary, rubbing his companion's arm as the other mech stirred. It wasn't that he was upset with Fireflight over the interruption, per se, but it was more than a little irritating to have one of his few moments away from his team derailed for anything sort of an emergency.  
  
//Fireflight.// Silverbolt felt a little bad for interrupting Fireflight's enthusiastic chatter, but Primus he just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, especially with the way his partner's fingers had started tracing idle patterns on his right wing. //Where are you?//  
  
He could almost hear the realization taking place in Fireflight's processor over the comm. //Oh! I'm at the entrance to the Ark! It's really neat, Bolt!// With a quiet groan, he reluctantly pulled away from the other mech, muttering a promise to be quick before exiting their temporarily shared quarters. Aside from the occasional glance or polite nod, no one seemed to even acknowledge him as he passed, letting him reach the base entrance- and Fireflight- entirely unaccosted.  
  
What he saw caused him to stop just short of actually exiting the Ark, merely watching warily for a few moments.  
  
Fireflight was outside with an obviously very amused Jazz and excited Hound, chatting both mechs' audios off as... Something fell to the ground around them. There was already a fair coating of it on the ground, and if it wasn't for their calm attitudes and its incorrect coloring he would have thought it was ash from the volcano. He subtly scanned it as he stepped outside, running it against the data he'd downloaded from Teletran about this planet and coming up with a name before he'd even taken his second step. Snow. Precipitation in the form of ice crystals, formed directly from the freezing of the water vapor in the air.  
  
“Bolt!”  
  
Silverbolt braced himself without even thinking, automatically wrapping his arms around Fireflight almost tackled him in excitement. “Do you /see/ this? It's really awesome isn't it! Hound says it's snow and a normal thing for this time of year in this part of Earth so we'll be seeing a lot of it now but-”  
  
Once again Silverbolt tuned out most of his brother's exuberant babble, only picking out enough to give the impression he was really listening, and turned his attention to the sky, watching the delicate crystalline structures slowly drift down.  
  
It was only when Hound said something he didn't quite catch that Fireflight stopped talking, and he took the opportunity to say something himself. “Thank you, Flight.” And despite his earlier annoyance he really did mean it, shifting his gaze from the sky back to the beaming red-and-white jet in his arms. “For showing me this.”  
  
The way Fireflight's faceplates lit up at his comment was more than enough to make up for the interruption.


	7. Bantam; Hot Spot, Groove, tree frog; G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt makes a new friend. He's not so sure he wants one.

Silverbolt resisted the urge to shift his nosecone around to try and dislodge the small creature crawling all over it. “Hot Spot, stop laughing.”  
  
It was bad enough that he'd had to recharge in his alt mode for the past few days, but between that, his new 'friend', and Groove patiently trying to get that 'friend' off his incredibly sensitive and ticklish nosecone, he wasn't really in the mood to be laughed at too.  
  
His proximity sensors pinged before he felt Hot Spot's familiar hand settle on the top of his fuselage, far enough back to not disturb Groove's efforts. “Sorry, 'Bolt. It's just cute.” There was still quite a bit of amusement in his tone, and Silverbolt would have bet some fine high-grade he was grinning behind that slagging mask of his, but at least he was _trying_ not to laugh.  
  
Suddenly the barely-there, ticklish feeling was gone, and Groove gently patted his nosecone. “Got him!” After both mechs backed away, the Aerialbot transformed, relieved to finally be bipedal again. He'd never been very fond of staying in his alt mode for very long- his wires always got a little twisted up. Shoving the discomfort aside, he peered curiously at the very, very tiny (and very, very green) creature perched on one of Groove's fingers, the motorcycle smiling down at it. “What is it?”  
  
“It's just a cute lil' tree frog, Silverbolt.” The white and tan Protectobot explained with a chuckle, holding his hand out closer to Silverbolt so he could examine his unwanted passenger better. “Totally harmless, and real good climbers. Must've come out of that forest nearby and thought you were fascinating to climb on.” Though he wasn't really sure he _wanted_ to see the frog better, his curiosity got the better of him, and he knelt, leaning forward to get a closer look at the animal. It didn't look dangerous at all, and... Well, he supposed it was a _little_ cute, in a weird way...  
  
Of course, the moment he thought that, the tiny thing launched itself at his face, clinging to one optic for dear life. He yelped in surprise, losing his balance and winding up on his aft with both of his companions grinning at him. Ignoring the glare he was getting, Groove stepped forward to help get the jet's little friend off him again. “Did I forget to mention they're real good _jumpers_ , too?” Behind him, Hot Spot let out a quiet laugh.  
  
“Slag it, Hot Spot, _stop laughing!_ ”


	8. Hyla Cinerea; Aerialbots, Groove, Hot Spot, tree frog; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frogs are interesting, Fireflight wants a pet, and Silverbolt is about to hit Hot Spot.

“Ooooh! What's that?”  
  
Silverbolt barely stopped a cringe at the sudden sound of Fireflight's voice, turning to see- oh, Primus help him... All four of his brothers were there, and every single one of them was staring at the tiny organic crawling over Groove's hand.  
  
“It's a frog.” The Protectobot so helpfully supplied, turning his hand as it clambered over the smooth metal. “Specifically, a hyla cinerea- an American green tree frog. They're native to this part of the country. Lots of people keep them as pets.”  
  
Almost as the words left Groove's vocalizer, the other Aerialbots' expressions began to change. Fireflight looked scarily excited, Skydive looked curious (as did Slingshot, though he was trying his hardest to hide it), and Air Raid... Air Raid looked like he was plotting something, not that _that_ was unusual.  
  
“Pets? Like, in a cage and stuff?” Fireflight edged closer to the Protectobot, leaning down to look closer at the small green creature. It made a strange sound as he did so, apparently distressed by the sudden appearance of a large, curious jet staring intensely at it.  
  
“It can't be a cage, look at how small it is! It'll climb right out!” Air Raid snorted derisively, elbowing Fireflight out of the way and 'squinting' at the frog. “I think you put it in a tank like a fish. Only, uh, not in water.”  
  
Fireflight gave his brother a hurt look at the elbow, but cast it aside quickly enough, more focused on the new, interesting thing in front of them. “We could get a tank.” That seemed to put an idea in his processor, and he turned to Silverbolt, optics wide and innocent as possible. “Hey 'Bolt...?”  
  
Silverbolt quietly huffed air out his vents, offlining his optics so he wouldn't have to see Fireflight's pleading expression. “Flight, no.”  
  
“Pleeeeeeease 'Bolt?” The Phantom begged, apparently turning on all of his secret 'convince Silverbolt' subroutines as he did so. “I'll take care of it myself! And I'll make sure it gets food and water and a clean tank and exercise-”  
  
Air Raid chose then to butt in. “Yeah! We can totally take care of it!” He insisted, adding his own, less effective pleading expression to the mix when Silverbolt brought his optics online again. Off to the side, Groove chuckled, rotating his arm slowly as the subject of the Aerialbots' little argument crawled across his plating. Of course he'd find this hilarious...  
  
Hot Spot did too, judging by the snickering just behind him, and he reached back to smack the other mech. Hard. Not that the firetruck seemed to care. If anything, it only made him laugh harder, the aft. “No, you two. This is a wild animal. You can't just put it in a tank, its never lived in one.”  
  
Fireflight seemed to deflate at that, looking down at his feet. “Okay...” He sounded absolutely spark-broken, in contrast to Air Raid's somewhat annoyed expression (he'd probably had _plans_ for releasing something that tiny into the Ark, knowing him) and the other two's complete disinterest.  
  
“You know...” Groove piped up again, kneeling down to let the frog crawl off him and leap away, and Silverbolt almost _felt_ the impending chaos. “They sell them too. Ones that have always been in tanks.”  
  
Fireflight's head shot up in perfect time with his own frustrated groan. “Really?!”  
  
Hot Spot burst out laughing again.


	9. Joie De Vivre; Fireflight; G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really just the little things.

“Fireflight...” Silverbolt began slowly, not sure he wanted to know and almost entirely sure the answer was going to confuse him, “What is that?”  
  
Fireflight looked up at him with a smile, the light blue paint smeared on his faceplates making the expression seem a little odd. “It's a paint-by-numbers kit!” He chirped, wings twitching and sending some green paint splattering across the ground. “Carly got one for Daniel and it looked really fun so I asked Hoist about it. He said he thought he could make one so he tried and look!” He gestured excitedly at the large piece of paper laid out in front of him.  
  
Now that Silverbolt was really looking, it _did_ look familiar, and he could vaguely remember seeing Carly's son with something similar at one point. “Alright.” He agreed, already feeling a processor ache coming on. “Why do you have one?”  
  
Shrugging in response, Fireflight held out one of the paintbrushes and grinned hopefully. “Cause of Hoist. Want to help?” He offered, pointing to the open cans with his free hand. “They've all got numbers on 'em, so you just have to match the numbers.”  
  
Silverbolt could still feel the processor ache coming on, but with Fireflight looking at him like that, paint smeared all over him and so thrilled at having a project meant for human children, there was no way he could say no. “Sure.” He agreed, carefully settling down on his knees and accepting the paintbrush. The joy on Fireflight's faceplates made the inevitable clean-up he'd have to do worth it. “Show me how to do it?”


	10. Efflugent; Skyfire; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire has a surprise for Silverbolt.

Of all the places Silverbolt had been expecting to spend his day off, on the far side of Earth's moon was pretty far down on the list. Skyfire had seemed so enthused about the whole idea, however, and he was fairly curious about what the larger mech had in his processor, so he'd agreed, leading to their current situation. He stretched his legs out further, trying to ignore the curious feeling of the lower gravity affecting both his gyros and some of his sensors, and glanced over at Skyfire. He had to have his optics cranked up to their highest possible light sensitivity to even see the other mech here. “So what's this surprise you were going to show me?”  
  
Skyfire chuckled, giving him one of those small smiles that had helped lure the Concorde far up out of his comfort zone. “You'll see. Just a little longer.” He assured, looking back up at the sky like he was waiting for something. Silverbolt stifled the urge to pout- no matter his age, it was _immature_ and _undignified_ , slag it- and settled for sighing out his vents, following the larger mech's stare upwards.  
  
Even without whatever surprise Skyfire had in his processor, the view alone could make the whole trip worth it. No atmosphere or light pollution meant the stars shined brighter and clearer than on Earth, making the whole sky almost seem to glow, nearly bright enough to cause burnout warnings for his currently hypersensitive optics flash in his peripheral vision. He started picking out what constellations he could, trying to recall what the 'official' designations for the stars that composed them were.  
  
“It's almost time.” Skyfire's sudden comment startled him out of his idle activity, and he belatedly realized that nearly half a joor had passed since either of them had said anything. The larger mech moved so easily in such a foreign environment that it was almost surreal, and for the first time Silverbolt really understood that this was what Skyfire had been built for, to feel perfectly at home even in the strangest corners of the galaxy. Pushing aside his surprise for the moment, he scrambled to his feet with significantly less grace than his friend. The shuttleformer kindly didn't say anything about his less-than-amazing display, his attention instead focused on the horizon.  
  
Silverbolt settled into place beside Skyfire, close enough their wings nearly scraped over each other and his sensors could pick up the stored heat in Skyfire's plating. “Turn your optics down. Ratchet would reformat me if I let you burn them out.” Shooting the scientist a curious look, because it was already nearly impossible to see, he obeyed. Instantly everything seemed to plummet into darkness, only the dim, distant stars offering any sort of light. Except... Oh.  
  
A small sliver of light was crossing the horizon, making the furthest areas he could see almost glow. He knew, somewhere in the back of his processor, that it had something to do with the chemical composition of the dust covering the moon, but seeing it like this... It didn't really matter much, he supposed.  
  
He'd thought the view of Earth as they'd flown over to their destination had been beautiful; it didn't have anything on the sight of the sun ever so slowly rising over the silvery landscape. The light reflecting back off the surface caused an eerie glow, and now Skyfire's warning made sense- this would have undoubtedly fried something if he'd left his optics cycled up.  
  
Beside him, Skyfire laughed softly, jolting Silverbolt back to the here and now beyond the light show. He looked over with a sheepish grin, about to apologize for his distraction, when Skyfire unintentionally interrupted him.“The 'dark side' of the moon is a bit incorrect, isn't it?” The shuttle asked, looking back out over the lunar plains with a thoughtful smile. “It just isn't visible from Earth.”  
  
“It's _beautiful_.” Silverbolt marveled, watching the light continue to advance slowly over the ground, making the various rocks and craters stand out even more against the gleaming dust. “Thank you for bringing me here.” And he meant it; even if the flight up had been a little unpleasant, the experience as a whole was better than he would have ever expected a day spent on the moon, of all places, to be. Not just for the sights, amazing as they were, but also the company.  
  
Speaking of company, Skyfire shifted then, maybe to say something or maybe just to adjust his altered center of gravity, he couldn't tell. Not when he was suddenly, painfully aware of the back of Skyfire's hand brushing over his own, grazing their energy fields together and sending a spike of... Something, through his spark.  
  
The sudden urge to throw all his previous caution to the wind, so to speak, and grab the other mech's hand nearly overwhelmed him, but he forced it down. What the frag was he _thinking?_ Just because Skyfire had been so nice to him, invited him up here to see something that was honestly the most romantic thing he could think of (and Primus he really might have been reading too many human novels) and was now carefully taking hold of his hand-  
  
Wait.  
  
Silverbolt started as Skyfire's action clicked in his processor, looking over at the other mech with wide optics. “...Skyfire?” He began hesitantly, closing his hand around the one holding it as he tried to figure out just what, exactly, Skyfire was thinking. The shuttle wasn't looking at him, but that same small smile was on his faceplates. Silverbolt dared to edge a little closer, a grin starting to form as Skyfire's energy field willingly overlapped with his own.  
  
“It's very beautiful.” Skyfire agreed, and Silverbolt wasn't sure he was talking about the view anymore.


	11. Ipseity; Wheeljack; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack has a project; Silverbolt has some concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and the next, deals with my take on one of the many possible ways the Protectobots could have been created in the G1 cartoon.

When Silverbolt quietly slipped into his lab, Wheeljack really didn't think much of it. The Aerialbot wasn't exactly a common sight around this part of the Ark, but it wasn't unheard of by any means for him to simply stop by to check on mechs, a habit that saved Perceptor's aft once. Usually if Silverbolt stopped by and the engineer wasn't working on anything too vital or dangerous, like now, he'd offer a quiet greeting and they'd chat for a little while about nothing in particular, though the _eccentricities_ of the rest of the Aerialbots was a popular topic.  
  
This time the large jet didn't say anything, however, and just settled himself on a bench, staring down at the ground with a frown set in place. After checking to make sure that everything was stable (Ratchet would deactivate him if he got one of the younglings caught in an explosion, especially the responsible one) Wheeljack turned to look at him, vocal indicators flashing in curiosity. “Silverbolt? Is something wrong?”  
  
Silverbolt looked up, something sharp and indescribable in his optics. “Is there?” The Lancia was slightly taken-back at the sheer amount of hurt hidden in the words, and was about to say something when the Concorde continued. “Did we do something wrong? Are we just not good enough? I know Fireflight doesn't notice important things sometimes, and Air Raid does a lot of stupid things, and Skydive barely speaks to anyone, and Slingshot's _Slingshot_ , but... But we're _trying_...”  
  
Oh. Oh, Silverbolt had somehow found out about... Well, frag. “Silverbolt... That has nothing to do with anything you have or haven't done, or being good enough, or anything like that.” Wheeljack began, approaching the jet cautiously. While he was fairly sure Silverbolt wouldn't actually hurt him, he'd had enough experience with volatile substances that he wasn't taking too many chances.  
  
Then Silverbolt dropped his gaze again, expression closing off in a way that made his spark hurt. He flung an arm over the silver mech's shoulders, relieved when he didn't try to pull away. Wheeljack tugged him closer gently, trying to find a way to explain. Why couldn't Silverbolt have gone to Perceptor or Ratchet about... On second thought, nevermind. Just the image of either of them trying to deal with the jet in this kind of mood was almost enough to make him flinch.  
  
“They're not going to replace you, ever. They're being made for a totally different purpose- they're going to be primarily defense- search and rescue, support, those types of things. They probably won't even be on the front lines that often. The only reason we're making them a gestalt is just in case they are needed in a fight- and they'd be there to help you, not to replace you.” Silverbolt leaned more heavily against him as he spoke, shifting to tuck his helm beneath the engineer's chin. The familiar movement, something that had happened Primus-only-knew how many times when the Aerial commander was still a sparkling, made him sigh out his vents in relief. Good, so Silverbolt wasn't mad at him.  
  
He was so caught up in the revelation that he nearly missed the Concorde's quiet question. “What?”  
  
Silverbolt moved his head to let his voice carry easier, one hand coming to curl over Wheeljack's on his shoulder. “Can we be there? I mean, I know we can't do anything to help build them, but... The others want to be- _I_ want to be there when they're brought online.”  
  
He considered that for a few moments. Five, well, four excitable youngling jets and one responsible one around five unpredictable sparklings? That was utter chaos just waiting to happen. “Sure, 'Bolt. I don't see why not.” Apparently content with his response, the large jet settled back to leaning against Wheeljack, systems humming quietly.  
  
They stayed like that for a few breems before Silverbolt pulled away a little reluctantly, smiling at him as he slid off the bench. “I should get back to the others before they destroy something.” He said, tone falling into the mixture of exasperation and affection that always seemed to appear whenever he talked about his brothers. “Or wind up in the brig. Or find more of that tape.”  
  
Wheeljack chuckled, dropping off the bench himself with a loud clank. “Those four are certainly a handful. Good luck.” He agreed, heading back to his latest invention while Silverbolt moved to leave the room, helm tilting as he possibly started talking to his brothers. Unbeknownst to the Lancia as he began fiddling with one faulty connection, the Concorde paused by the doorway, turning back with a curious look.  
  
“Wheeljack?” The inventor looked up from the jumble of parts, earfins flashing questioningly. Taking that as his cue, Silverbolt continued, “The others wanted to know- do they have a name yet? We know they'll pick their own, but as a group.”  
  
Humming thoughtfully, Wheeljack freed one hand to rub at his chin, a gesture he'd picked up from the television programs some mechs on the Ark kept going constantly. “Not as far as I know. They probably need one. Why, do you have something in mind?”  
  
Silverbolt hesitated for a moment, obviously unsure whether to continue, but either his own resolve or his brother's prompting convinced him to keep talking. “Well, if they're supposed to be mostly defensive... What about the Protectobots?”  
  
“The Protectobots...” Wheeljack murmured, testing the name on his vocalizer at the same time he turned it over in his processor. “I like it.”


	12. Nascent; Hot Spot; G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt's probably the most nervous one there. (For no good reason.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and the previous, deals with my take on one of the many possible ways the Protectobots could have been created in the G1 cartoon.

The small engineering outpost was practically buzzing with energy, even with only six mechs there. Well, there were about to be eleven, which was the reason for all the excitement. Silverbolt had done his best to stay out of the way for the most part, but all the preparations were finally finished and Ratchet had summoned all of them to the medbay.  
  
Shifting nervously as Grapple and Wheeljack murmured amongst themselves (about some sort of specialized gyro, it sounded like) next to him, Silverbolt watched both the medics run through a final check. Once the two of them were satisfied, Hoist motioned for him to come closer while Ratchet went to talk to Perceptor.  
  
“Nervous?” Hoist asked him as he drew near, optics glinting in amusement. His wings twitching just a little in worry, the Aerialbot nodded, making the medic chuckle and pat him on the shoulder fondly. “This will go just fine. We've accounted for everything.”  
  
Silverbolt forced himself to turn his attention away from all the things that could go horribly wrong, focusing instead on the berth he was standing next to as Perceptor started running the boot sequences. Hoist called out a few things to Ratchet he didn't really understand, and suddenly the mech in front of him was onlining.  
  
Red optics- and wasn't that a surprise, though in theory anyone's optics could be any color- flickered on before focusing on Silverbolt with such open fascination he felt bad for ever not wanting this to happen. Shoving the thought away, the jet smiled down at the blue and red mech, resetting his vocalizer before speaking. “Hi. What's your name?”  
  
There were a few moments of silence before the other gestalt commander slowly returned the smile, undoubtedly just working on getting his basic motor relays to work. “I'm Hot Spot. Who are you?”  
  
Hot Spot. How appropriate for a fire truck, but Silverbolt didn't really spend much time on it, tuning out Ratchet joining Hoist in both ensuring everything was working correctly and preparing for the next mech to be brought online. “I'm Silverbolt. One of..." His voice cracked with static for a moment. "One of your big brothers. It's good to finally meet you, Hot Spot.”


	13. Dètente; First Aid; PG-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silverbolt gets shot down and wakes up in the med bay.

The first thing Silverbolt was aware of when he came online was the fact he wasn't in pain. Which, considering that he'd crashed rather painfully into the ground thanks to a well-aimed shot of Megatron's fusion cannon, meant that either he'd hit so hard it knocked his pain receptors offline or they had been taken offline by a medic. The second thing he was aware of was how distinctly _orange_ the ceiling of the med bay was and it was really kind of unpleasant. Before he could attempt to move, though, First Aid's faceplate appeared above him, mask retracted and a small smile in place. Well, that was a good thing at least. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“A lot better than I remember,” he admitted, trying to sit up only to discover his movement was extremely limited. His injuries must be worse than he thought if he'd been partially locked out of his motor control systems. The Concorde ran a quick diagnostics check, receiving the expected damage report with one particular surprise amongst the pings that returned. “I'm missing my right arm?” He didn't remember _that_ happening. Megatron had hit where his wing met his fuselage- if anything, he should be missing a leg.  
  
“Actually, no.” At his confused expression, First Aid tilted his head, obviously considering the best way to explain, before he spoke. “Technically your arm is still attached, but the major support struts suffered multiple breaks when you impacted and all the sensors in that region were sheared off in the crash. It's not surprising it came back as missing.”  
  
Well, that made a bit more sense. “Is everyone else alright?” From his prone position, he couldn't see any of the other berths, but the quiet whirring of support systems that indicated a severe injury was thankfully absent.   
  
The ambulance nodded, absently checking over the readings of Silverbolt's systems. “There were a few more injuries, nothing major. Blades took a shot in the side when we were getting you out of there, so he's here overnight, as well as the _rest_ of our brothers, though none of them have more than a few scratches.” The _mostly because we were worried about you_ remained unsaid, but the Concorde heard it nonetheless. He could feel the grin tugging at his lips as the medic looked back over at him, visor glinting in amusement. “Most of them are recharging in a pile, but Blades needed to stay on a berth, so...” Here First Aid paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “...I really think you need to see this for yourself.”  
  
Between the two of them, he managed to make it into a sitting position without aggravating his injuries too badly (though the sight of his mangled arm and midsection was immensely disconcerting, doubly so because despite all his sensors telling him the damage was _there_ he couldn't feel it) and promptly had to mute his vocalizer so as to not wake the sleeping mechs with his laughter. Sure enough, while most of his brothers had buried themselves in the pile of Protectobots near the center of the room, Fireflight had apparently taken it as his responsibility to ensure Blades wasn't lonely and was sprawled across the helicopter, mindful of the fresh welding on his side.  
  
From his place partially supporting the Aerial's shoulder, First Aid let out a quiet laugh, apparently sensing his amusement somehow. “Blades put up a token fight, of course. Couldn't let Slingshot think he was getting _soft_ on any of you jets.”  
  
Silverbolt couldn't stop his own quiet chuckle, leaning gently into the Protectobot even as he was careful not to give him too much of his larger bulk. “Of course not.”


	14. Plenary; Aerialbots; PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was as natural as flying.

//Silverbolt.// Prowl's voice was calm and collected, only the slightest hint of strain acknowledging the fact his troops were currently being torn apart by Menasor.  
  
//Acknowledged.// Silverbolt responded nearly instantly, already banking toward the rest of his brothers even as Thrust went down in a plume of smoke and sparks. He didn't need to clarify what the tactician meant; there was only one reason Prowl would pull air support, and that was if the combiner team was needed. //Aerialbots, combine!// As soon as the order left him, he could feel the constant dim presence at the end of his thoughts stir as he began to transform.  
  
Then Skydive reached him and the first connection was made, the other jet's mind sliding into his own as a calm, thoughtful hum. Plans, strategies, and flight patterns flooded his awareness, thousands of actions discussed and mulled over faster than most mechs would even realize possible as the aerial tactician used the opportunity to discuss the post-merge battle plans that might be needed.  
  
Fireflight tumbled in next, distracted by a thousand different thoughts and ideas pulling at his attention even as his brothers tugged him closer. Small observations he'd made- Wildrider had taken a nasty hit from Sunstreaker earlier, the very tip of Thundercracker's left wing was a little bent and made him just a little unstable, Hook was elbow-deep in something complex and important-looking- were all funneled in, Skydive altering plans and making new ones while his brother's mind and spark joined his own weaved into Silverbolt's.  
  
Excitement and did-you-see-how-fragged-off-Ramjet-was-when-I-hit-him? poured over all of them, Air Raid laughing with a slightly-disturbing glee as he settled in against the rest of them. Silverbolt met him with amusement and yes-I-did-that-was-a-wonderful-shot, wrapping himself around the Raider as the others pressed even closer, all four awaiting the last piece of their gestalt, of themselves.

  
And Slingshot didn't disappoint, hurling himself into the bond an instant later, all fury and arrogance but still careful of hurting them with his recklessness, caring though he'd never admit it to anyone who wasn't as much part of himself as he was. He faked disdain, muttered that he'd been _enjoying_ his dogfight with Skywarp (nevermind that chasing a teleporter made for a poor fight) and received only laughter in return.

Finally, they were all there, and the sleeping presence stirred more viciously, then woke with a roar, leaving Silverbolt to quietly pull all four of his brothers deeper into himself even as the actual distinctions of 'brother' and 'self' were lost to the bond.

Somewhere above the battlefield, Superion lifted his head.


End file.
